An Invitation to Dinner
by Akyra of Gallia
Summary: The story of what happened after the end of Buries a Hatchet, between von Stalhein and Raymond. Getting used to freedom and life in Great Britain isn't easy for a former Soviet agent...


**A/N : **_Remember, at the end of "Buries a Hatchet", we have Raymond inviting von Stalhein to dinner, but W.E. Johns never did tell us what happened during that evening... this short story is my answer. I am not entirely satisfied with it, but when am I ever ? I'm not very good with short stories, which is why I prefer to publish longer stories. This one may yet have a sequel, actually, who knows. So, I hope you like it all the same._

_Regarding the number of languages von Stalhein speaks, I pulled it at random but I believe it to be reasonably accurate. We know he speaks Arabic, German, English and Russian, and I strongly suspect that he speaks French as well. Possibly Spanish too ? Or even Czech, he seemed to blend in easily enough in "Looks Back", and perhaps in one other book as well, I can't remember. If anyone knows, you're welcome to let me know._**  
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As they got cleared through customs, von Stalhein kept a wary eye on Air Commodore Raymond. Time had been kind on Raymond, for he was still easily recognizable from the photographs von Stalhein had had in hand ; and if his hair was turning from grey to white, his stance was still very much upright. Beyond that, he was obviously respected by Bigglesworth, and any man who earned such esteem must be a strength to be reckoned with. So, von Stalhein said nothing, determined to think twice before he let a single word out of his mouth.

"Well", said Raymond cheerfully, "you must have had a long trip and I hope you're not too tired."

"No", said von Stalhein. "I had ample time to rest on the plane." Although that was only half true, he had had trouble sleeping lately. He wondered what was Raymond's aim. Make small talk to lull him into a sense of confidence ? There was really little need for such methods ; he was completely at Raymond's mercy. Not only himself, which in and of itself was not so serious, but also his nephew, which was something else altogether. If he was honest with himself, von Stalhein was not certain whether his principles would survive any threats to Fritz.

"Glad to hear it", Raymond was saying, apparently oblivious to von Stalhein's suspicious thoughts. "In any case, I have arranged for some temporary accomodations. Not entirely comfortable, I'm afraid, but that'll do for a few days."

Von Stalhein hesitated, but he was a gentleman and he had little choice but to say politely, "thank you", although in a rather brittle way. Then he decided he was merely betraying his own lack of confidence by being so abrupt, and doing himself little credit, so he continued, only a little hesitantly, "I do appreciate all the trouble you have gone to." He acknowledged it, but did not take it for granted. Bigglesworth may think he was merely doing him a favour without any strings attached, but von Stalhein did not delude himself what Raymond's position was on the whole thing.

Raymond heard all of the nuances, of course, and an amused smile crinkled his eyes. "We seldom have an occasion to do so in the intelligence service, but for once I think I should speak plainly", he said, not unkindly. "It was Bigglesworth who got you out of Sakhalin, and I have to respect his position on this. No action will be taken against you, or your family, should you decide that you're not going to cooperate with us. I'm inviting you to dinner, not an interrogation cell."

By then they had walked out of the airport and were standing on the sidewalk, not far from a file of cars, but von Stalhein hardly even noticed his surroundings as Raymond went on, "If you give me your word that you will not do anything that could harm the interests of this country, then you can consider yourself entirely free - even to leave right now and disappear, if you so desire. Although I very much hope you'll still accept my invitation."

Von Stalhein stared at him, somewhat puzzled by the impromptu speech. "I am sorry", he said slowly, "but I hope you will understand my..." he struggled to find the right word. "...my perplexity." Although _skepticism_ may be more accurate yet. "Are you telling me that you have no interest in my knowledge of your enemies, outdated though such knowledge may be ?"

Raymond smiled at the overly formal tones. "I would be lying if I said I'm not interested in such, ah, informations as you might provide. All I'm saying is that whether or not you provide them is up to you - no pressure will be applied on you, beyond the fact that your cooperation in this matter would help speed up the paperwork involved to get you an authorization to remain on British territory. That, you will understand, is not entirely up to me."

Von Stalhein nodded, although he was still very much confused. He understood what Raymond was saying, he just had a very hard time believing it. He knew that in a similar situation, he would certainly not have extended such generousity, and although he had come to expect it from Bigglesworth at the most awkwards of times, he found it unsettling coming from anyone else. However, there was really nothing further to be said, so he bowed his head slightly.

"I thank you for your... dinner invitation, and I shall attend."

"Very good !" Raymond seemed genuinely pleased, and von Stalhein gave up trying to decide what it really meant. When he dealt with Englishmen, there always seemed to be layers upon layers of various significance. Germans were so much more straightforward, he thought, only a little resentfully.

The poetic nature of Britons had always irritated him beyond measure.

Raymond had resumed walking and led von Stalhein to a car standing a little farther, a young man in uniform at the wheel. Although he tried very much to hide it, the boy was staring covertly at von Stalhein, which was perhaps understandable but certainly not pleasant. Nevertheless, von Stalhein made an effort to curb his own glare. He was not here as an enemy.

"George, you can drive us back", commanded Raymond, and the young man saluted before opening the door of the car for his superior.

Von Stalhein climbed in the back of the car after Raymond, dropped his suitcase at his feet and allowed himself to relax, only then realizing how tired he felt. It was rather funny, in a way ; not so long ago he was able to stand all day in inhuman cold and carry boulders around. But back then, he had been living on sheer nerves, and now his body seemed determined to remind him that it could take only so much abuse. He had been lucky to stay only for a few months on Sakhalin, as he could hope the damage was not permanent.

The car, deftly manoeuvred by Raymond's aide, swerved through the traffic of London, and von Stalhein looked through the window at well-known streets and avenues. The last time Erich von Stalhein had come to England was a very long time ago, but in the meantime Erich Stahl, or Erich Brown, or any other numbers of Erichs had dropped in occasionally for a visit. He had never liked much the weather, but he had to admit the city felt familiar and comforting. Almost like home. Here he could expect everything from his enemies, but at least he did not have to fear being stabbed in the back by his allies.

Turning his head, von Stalhein noticed Raymond staring at him.

"Yes ?" he said, more curtly than he really meant.

"Nothing", Raymond said with a small cough, or maybe he was concealing a discreet laugh. "It's just, right now you almost looked, ah, nostalgic."

Von Stalhein directed at him the sourest look he could muster, and only barely held back a nasty comment about the Blitz. So far Raymond had been more than courteous to him and it would not do to lose his temper over such a small jab. "Yes", he said instead with a small smile. "I have, after all, been a frequent visitor. Although you may not have been aware of it at the time."

Raymond looked rueful. "Sadly, that may well be true. Actually, I would be curious to hear you pulled that out. Maybe we can trade war stories over diner."

Although he kept on a cheerful mask, von Stalhein felt immediately wary. Appealing to comradeship, joyous times past and nostalgia was a very effective method of interrogation. One he had used himself on more than one occasion. He knew he was not the kind to fall for an easy trap, but he also knew that there was no greater enemy than overconfidence. Bigglesworth had hammered that in his skull in more ways than one.

"Maybe", he said cautiously.

Raymond shot him an amused look but did not insist. "As you can see, the traffic has only been getting worse these past few years."

Indeed, despite the driver's consummate skills, they were making slow progress.

"That's true everywhere, I think", von Stalhein said with a shrug. Although in the east a lot of people could not afford a car. Or the petrol to get it running.

He leant back in his seat and consciously relaxed the muscles of his shoulders. He was beginning to feel quite comfortable and, in fact, a little drowsy, the matter not helped any by the soft hum of the engine and the comfortable suspensions of the car. The cushions were quite soft, too... von Stalhein kept his eyes open and tried to look alert, but allowed his mind to wander, and he could not tell how much time had passed in that comfortable haze until the car jolted to a halt.

A quick look through the window panes informed him that they were in a nondescript neighbourhood, in the outer center of London, and he shot Raymond a quizzical look.

"I have arranged for temporary accomodations for you here", the commodore explained. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you the way."

Somewhat dumbfounded that he would go to that extent to make him feel... welcome, for lack of a better term, von Stalhein followed. At this point a protest would have been the height of ungratefulness, he was well aware of it.

All the more aware as Raymond led him to a small but comfortable flat, spartanly furnished. Von Stalhein set down his suitcase near the door and politely followed as Raymond showed him around. It did not take long ; one bedroom, a small kitchen, a living room and a bathroom, with the bare necessities. It had little personality, but Raymond had gone to some pains to make it pleasant, even going so far as to put soap in the bathroom and food on the shelves of the kitchen.

A long time ago, von Stalhein may have found it a little... bare, but his priorities and general outlook in life had changed. This was as good as the flat he had received in his capacity as a Soviet officer. The whole place to himself was downright luxurious. And after Sakhalin it came close to heaven. Von Stalhein glanced at Raymond, who was obviously waiting for his reaction.

"Am I to assume this is the place you have arranged for me to stay, for the time being ?" he asked neutrally, careful about not swallowing the bait too fast. When things looked too good to be true, they usually were, although he could not imagine Bigglesworth's superior playing that kind of games with him.

Raymond frowned slightly. "Yes. I know it's a little austere, but I didn't have much time to make arrangements. Of course, if you'd rather relocate, I understand - "

"No", von Stalhein said quietly, "I don't think you do. This is more than suitable." And, oh, he felt like he had to drag broken glass out of his throat, but he had never balked from his duty, and this was something he obviously had to say. "Thank you."

Raymond's puzzlement turned to confusion, then understanding and his expression, which had become quite disapproving, softened again. "You're welcome." He looked at his watch. "Well, it is now half past five, and I think you'll want some time to settle down - I'll come and get you at seven sharp, if that is satisfactory ?"

"Very much so."

Raymond departed, and von Stalhein remained alone in the flat. He remained standing for a while, his mind blank, overwhelmed by the changed brought to his life in barely a few days. It still did not feel real. In fact, he was not quite sure what to do with himself, at this point. He looked around him again, realized he had been standing there for the better part of fifteen minutes, and with a jolt realized that he had been subconsciously waiting for someone to bark dismissal. Clearly, getting used to... civilian life, for want of a better word, was going to take some time.

Shaking his head in disgust, von Stalhein grabbed his suitcase and made his way to the bedroom. Unpacking was almost a joke - he owned exactly one spare set of clothes and a hat - but at least it was quickly done. And now, time for a shower, he thought with delight.

He stepped inside the bathroom, stripped and turned on the water. The feeling of hot water on his skin was almost unbearable, and his muscles contracted violently before they consented to relax. A quick look over his own body elicited a small grimace ; beyond the number of scars, his ribs showed a little too much for comfort, and his hands were a mess of broken nails and half-healed cuts and chilblains. The soap stung but von Stalhein scrubbed himself thoroughly, then washed his hair, and began to feel a little more human.

After a good twenty minutes he regretfully turned the water off and began to dry himself, enjoying beyond words the feel of soft, clean fabric on his skin, and the warmth he thought he could never get enough of. Such small pleasures.

Readying himself for diner did not take as much time as it should have. After all, he had only one clean suit to choose from, and the lack of other products he was used to employing left him with a natural, just-out-of-the-shower hairstyle. That lack of refinement was not much to his taste, but at least he was able to shave.

That left him ten minutes until Raymond arrived, and not much to do. He needed to get something to read, or boredom would soon get the better of him. And maybe a wireless, as well. And... von Stalhein halted his train of thoughts when he remembered that, at this point, he did not have a penny to his name - and indeed, everything he owned at this moment, he owed to the generosity of former enemies. Not a pleasant thought, but reality nonetheless. Which meant he was going to have to find some kind of occupation, and most likely not one pertaining to his chosen field of expertise.

Several dreadful images went through his head - of himself lecturing at a university, or performing some kind of menial job, or... no, perhaps he would be able to find some alternative. A business venture would have been his preference, but he lacked both the funds and the expertise for such a thing. Which left... not much. What good was a soldier who could not fight ?

A soft knock distracted him from his bleak considerations, and he strode to the door to open it. He did not really feel up to diner - or anything else - but he had already agreed, and he owed at least this much to Raymond. The man still dumbfounded him.

Raymond's eyebrows crept closer to his hairline when he saw von Stalhein."Well", he said. "I think you look closer to your old self."

Of course, he must have seen the same kind of photographs von Stalhein had seen of him.

"I'm ready", said von Stalhein awkwardly, for he was not sure what else to say.

"Then let's go."

They walked back to the car, and soon were on their way. The traffic had improved somewhat, since it was a little later and most people were already home and getting ready for diner.

"I thought we would go to the Carlton, if that suits you", Raymond said. "After all, we must celebrate your evasion."

Von Stalhein's eyes widened a little in surprise. Raymond certainly did not do things in half.

"That's most generous of you", he said, still a little suspicious.

Raymond seemed amused more than insulted, but he seemed to understand that no amount of reassuring would persuade von Stalhein completely that his intentions were pure and innocent, and he did not try to convince him further. "Yes, you had better believe it", he said with a hint of humour. "To be fully honest, I have a little more at stake in this than merely professional."

Von Stalhein tilted his head to the side in a mute invitation to continue.

"You may already be aware that I am the one who first approached Bigglesworth with that mad idea of mounting a rescue for you."

Von Stalhein said nothing. He had not known that, but he did not see what difference it made.

"Bigglesworth refused, of course, as any sane person would have. And you may wonder why I suggested this to him, knowing that he would most likely decline, and furthermore that any informations you may or may not possess did not justify the incredible risks of sending an agent to Sakhalin."

"Indeed", von Stalhein said softly. "If you were willing to take such great risks, you would likely obtain better results approaching a man still in the favour of the Party, not a reject such as me."

The question, unspoken, hung in the air between them. Raymond took the time to take a cigarette, offer one to von Stalhein, and lit them both with a lighter before exhaling a whiff of smoke.

"Maybe you can guess", he suggested.

Von Stalhein frowned, suddenly irritated by this game. "Bigglesworth has expressed at various times an unexplainable interest in my welfare", he said, although he did not like to admit it, especially out loud. "But I fail to see where you come in."

Raymond shrugged. "Really ? I would have thought that were obvious. Or perhaps it is a little foreign to your usual way of thinking."

At this point von Stalhein could not have said whether he was being insulted or complimented, or maybe a little of both.

"But you see", Raymond continued, "Bigglesworth has been working with me for a very long time, and I consider him my friend. For some reason that I don't claim to fully understand, he cares what happens to you, whether he admits it or not. I did always think that you and he are similar in many ways, and perhaps..." Raymond pulled at his cigarette, frowned and shook his head. "In any case, I thought he should be given a chance to rescue you, if so he chose, rather than be told of your death in a few months or a few years. Now, I would have been the last person to blame him if he had chosen to leave you to your fate. But I think he would have regretted it very much, if he had."

Von Stalhein shook his head mechanically. "That's preposterous", he said, but a hint of doubt crept in his voice despite him.

"Is it ?" Raymond shrugged again. "Do you claim to have never felt such kinship or comradeship with someone before, be they the enemy ?"

Von Stalhein felt his mouth set in a thin line at the word "comrade", though it was meant in a different manner than which he was accustomed. "Respect for the enemy, and for their courage, skill and intelligence, yes. Nothing more. It would not have been proper."

"Hum. Proper", said Raymond in a way that suggested he was not in the least convinced. "In my experience, propriety is little more than a cover for actual wants or needs. Veneer and appearance, all that."

Von Stalhein was saved from having to give an answer by the car stopping, much to his relief. The conversation was treading on uncomfortable territory. Raymond was dragging out questions he had always been very careful not to ask himself, even if only half-consciously. The idea that there could be something under the image of propriety, decorum and seemliness drilled into him from a young age.

He opened the door and stepped out, but as he did so he was hit by a wave of dizziness, and only just caught himself, leaning slightly against the side of the car so as not to stumble. He pulled himself together, quickly enough that Raymond, who had to come around the car to the sidewalk, did not notice. The last thing he needed at this moment was to appear weaker than he already was. No doubt he would feel much better already once he had eaten.

They made for the entrance in silence and waited for a few seconds until they were shown to their table. Von Stalhein was pleased to see that it was a smaller table set in a corner, from which he could observe the whole room without attention being drawn to him. He scanned the room once then twice, out of habit more than because he truly expected any danger to come his way, and seated himself only once he was satisfied that there was nothing out of the ordinary. Raymond seemed to find the whole proceedings rather amusing, as he sported a small smile.

"No foreign agent in the room ?" he asked with a very British smile. "Very good, I'll make sure everyone present here is put on record on our 'not a spy' list".

"Don't be too hasty", said von Stalhein dryly. "There may well be agents whose identity is unknown to me, or agents whom I choose not to reveal to you."

Raymond sighed. "I see we'll have to work on your sense of humour."

Von Stalhein frowned. "I don't see what my sense of humour..." Oh. It had been a joke.

"It's too Prussian." Raymond had a mischievous smile more befitting a twelve-year old boy.

This time it was the appearance of the waiter, bringing the menu, that saved von Stalhein from having to find a repartee. Conversation with Raymond was turning out to be exhausting. The man somehow managed to be typically British and yet completely unconventional in his approach. Von Stalhein had to wonder if that was the result of Bigglesworth's influence, or if on the contrary Raymond was the one responsible for Bigglesworth's often unorthodox but imaginative methods.

For the time being, he hid his unease with a quick survey of the menu, which offered a promising array of food. The change was abrupt between this and the usual prison fare, the _kasha_ the prisoners were served twice a day, although it was at least filling if not exactly gourmet food. Sometimes it was even warm. Lukewarm. Except those few times when it had been left outside for half an hour before being served and it had been half-frozen and covered in a thin layer of snow. They had still eaten it, of course.

Having made his choice, von Stalhein put down the menu and observed his dinner companion, who was still perusing the available choices. It was hard to label him as an enemy when he looked so innocuous - well, no longer an enemy, but that was going to take a little more time to sink in. What could it have been like to take orders from such a man ? The only comparison von Stalhein could think of would be Count von Faubourg, except the Count had been a self-absorbed fool. Raymond on the other hand was merely hiding his skill and efficiency - and, probably, ruthlessness - behind a rather nonchalant, fatherly attitude.

Yes, this man had been through two wars, and obviously done a good job in both. It would not do to forget that.

This train of thought brought von Stalhein to a rather unpleasant notion. Where he had had to deal with bumbling incompetents, be they above or beneath him, Bigglesworth had forged a strong relationship with both his colleagues and superiors. Which meant that, either von Stalhein himself had been working with the wrong people, or there was a problem with his interaction with his colleagues in a professional environment. Or a little of both, but none of the options was very appealing.

Von Stalhein was dragged from his thoughts by the slight movement Raymond made when he raised his head. "Is something the matter ?"

Von Stalhein blinked. "No. Why ?"

"You've been staring at me with that frown on your face. Are you having second thoughts of some sort ?"

Von Stalhein shook his head briefly. "No. Merely reminiscing."

"Ah." Raymond had a sympathetic grimace. "I can see how that would be unpleasant."

The waiter suddenly appeared beside them, apparently out of thin air, with the sommelier. "May I take your order, gentlemen ?"

Raymond looked for von Stalhein's nod of confirmation. "Yes, certainly. I'll have the specialty of the day, I think, with the white sauce. Oh, and asparagus for the first course."

The waiter nodded as he scribbled it down, then turned to von Stalhein.

"Smoked salmon and beef stroganoff."

That choice made Raymond raise an eyebrow, but his attention was diverted by the sommelier who wanted to know what wine struck their fancy. A _riesling_ was swiftly suggested as an acceptable choice for the first course (a dry, fruity white wine that would go well with a cold dish), followed by a _pinot noir _for the main dish. Von Stalhein was quite certain that it was not by chance that Raymond had picked two kind of wines popular in Germany, but made no comment. The waiter and sommelier departed, with instructions from Raymond to bring two whisky-colas as an appetizer.

"I would have thought that you would avoid anything even remotely Russian, under the circumstances", Raymond remarked once they had gone. "Beef stroganoff ?"

"On the contrary", von Stalhein said with a thin smile. "It will be all the sweeter. Besides, that dish was named after Count Pavel Stroganoff, and we both know how much the Soviets love anything even remotely tied to the aristocracy." There was perhaps a hint of bitterness in that last observation.

"Yes, they do, don't they ?" said Raymond, with a knowing look that suggested he was not referring to the food anymore.

Von Stalhein shrugged. "They're not the only ones, far from it. The past century has not been kind on the european nobility."

"Quite", Raymond murmurred, and he no longer looked amused but very serious. His eyes fell on von Stalhein's bruised and scarred hands in thoughtful contemplation. "What of your own family, if I may ask ?"

Keeping his face carefully blank, von Stalhein pondered his answer. The subject was no longer so raw and painful, merely a dull ache that he had tried to put behind him. And then, there was the reflex of the well-trained spy, to never voluntarily surrender personal information. Yet here he was, all but retired, with a man to whom he owed his life and continued survival and comfort, like it or not. What did it matter any more ?

"I'm sorry", Raymond said quietly. "I should not have asked."

"I have no living relatives, but for my nephew and his mother. As for our family holdings - I have not been there since the war. I do not know what became of them, and to be honest I am not interested in knowing. Whatever few assets we could salvage were in my sister's care, now certainly lost." And that was as much as he was willing to tell anyone outside the family. Except perhaps... but Bigglesworth had never asked, and knew better than to ask such an insensitive question. All the more insensitive because he would know von Stalhein might feel compelled to answer.

Raymond gave a simple nod, and did not remark on von Stalhein's confession, for which he was grateful. He would not have appreciated any expression of sympathy, but he could use a few minutes' silence. Staring at nothing, he allowed his thoughts to wander for a little while, a welcome break from that friendly but draining conversation they were having. He had not planned on it being so difficult, when he had accepted the invitation.

To make things even better, he was beginning to feel a little light-headed. He probably should have eaten something sooner. Between the plane trip and a number of other matters that had to be attended, it had been the better part of a full day since he last ate something, and it had not been much (the smell of the eggs at the hotel had nearly sent him gagging, and coffee and a piece of toast had been the only things he had felt confident he could keep down).

The arrival of the waiter with the two whisky-colas jolted him momentarily back to reality. He eyed the glass, absent-mindedly evaluating the probability of it having been alterated in any manner. Raymond must have booked a table, so their presence there could have been anticipated and poison slipped in one of the drinks. Of course, it would be impossible to predict who would drink from which glass. If he had to conduct such an operation, he would have dealt with that limitation by putting poison in both drinks. No witnesses and no-one the wiser. Unless the waiter had been bribed, of course, but the risk would not be worth it...

Raymond cleared his throat, rather loudly, and von Stalhein realized that he had let his thoughts wander again, this lack of focus a sure sign that he was tired.

"What should we drink to ?" Raymond asked, once he was sure he had von Stalhein's attention.

Von Stalhein's lips twisted in uncharacteristic good humour. "To retirement", he suggested.

Raymond had a brief smile. "May it last."

They raised their glasses and drank. Von Stalhein took only a small sip - drinking on an empty stomach was not a good idea at the best of times. At least the alcohol ought to give him a little energy.

"Bigglesworth seems to have a high opinion of you", von Stalhein observed as Raymond was putting down his glass. He had taken enough questions from the commodore, now the time had come to go on the offensive. "And I know that you have worked with him quite a long time. I must confess that this... dynamic of yours always left me somewhat puzzled."

"What do you mean ?" Raymond asked, the very picture of innocence.

"Well, I am a little curious. Is Bigglesworth a pilot, or a spy ? He certainly seems to qualify for both."

Raymond had a stifled laugh. "And he was both, for all that he always disliked the latter job. Although I suspect that he always considered himself a pilot first and foremost. Just a pilot with some, er, unique qualifications."

"He was involved in a great number of such... affairs, then ? By which I mean, other than those during which I had the misfortune to encounter him."

"Quite a few, actually - but that is no secret. I am surprised that you do not know of it."

"I know of some. Not all, clearly."

"Then it may soothe your professional pride to hear that you were not the only one who had cause to regret Bigglesworth's involvement in their affairs."

Von Stalhein looked pensively at his glass. "I have learnt a few things about pride, lately."

"I shouldn't worry too much about it, in your place. There is nothing wrong in having pride in a job well done."

"No", agreed von Stalhein. "In any case, I don't have nearly as much regret as I thought. Things could have ended up much worse altogether." He had come to wonder what kind of world would have been built, had Germany won the war. And had been grieved to realize that it may not have been a world he would have been comfortable living in.

"I'm glad you feel that way." Raymond took another sip of whisky. "Speaking of profession, however, I must ask - you are going to need a source of income. Have you given some thought to what sort of employment you might like to take ?"

"The thought has crossed my mind", von Stalhein said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He never liked being in the position of a beggar. "I have yet to find a satisfactory solution to this particular problem. Obviously I can no longer use my skills in any sort of military capacity. I suppose I could find any sort of unqualified work to support myself, at least until I found anything more suitable."

"How about writing ?" Raymond suggested. "Memoirs and diaries are all the rage these days."

Von Stalhein gave him a horrified look. He could think of nothing more awful than having his personal experiences exposed for the whole world to see - not to mention all the parts that were still top secret.

"Or maybe not", Raymond amended, seeing the look and interpreting it correctly.

"Even disregarding my personal feelings on the matter", von Stalhein said with no small amount of disgust, "writing does not usually generate a sufficient income to survive, even modestly."

"True. But somehow, I can't imagine you in the guise of a taxi driver."

Von Stalhein shrugged. "Necessity rules. And I am not likely to ever receive my military pension, so this is indeed a case of dire necessity."

Raymond raised an eyebrow. "Now there is an idea", he mused. "Actually, there may be a way to salvage at least part of your pension. After all, you did serve Germany for quite a long time, and I daresay West like East owe you more than they gave you. You won't be surprised to hear that I have some friends in West Germany, and I may be able to pull a few strings."

Surprised, von Stalhein looked sharply at him. "I would be surprised if you were in any way successful, but If you were willing to make the attempt, I would, naturally, be grateful", he said cautiously, wondering what Raymond would demand in return.

"Splendid. I shall make inquiries at the earliest convenience."

Von Stalhein said nothing and waited, slowly sipping his drink and occasionally glancing at his companion. After a few moments, Raymond gave him a strange look and von Stalhein raised an eyebrow in silent enquiry.

"You look like you're waiting for something."

Von Stalhein frowned slightly. "I am waiting for you to tell me what you want. Surely you must have some questions ?"

Raymond looked puzzled, then exasperated. "I'm not trying to extract information from you - I thought I had made that clear already. I am merely trying to help you, although you're not making it in the least easy."

Yes, Raymond had said so. Von Stalhein still could not bring himself to believe it. Only a complete fool would believe that he could get something in return for nothing.

The commodore looked half-exasperated, half-amused. "You look like a fish out of the water. At this point, I see that I won't convince you, so I will merely say it one last time ; if you choose to share some of your knowledge with us, we will be grateful. If not, we'll make do without. Whatever offers I make you are not subject to any conditions, unless specifically stated otherwise."

"I see." He really did not, but he had no choice but to accept Raymond's word until proven wrong. And so far the commodore had been true to his every promises. "I hope you understand that it is not easy for me to be so greatly indebted to..." he hesitated, looking for the right word.

"Enemies ? Englishmen ? Capitalist pigs ?" Raymond suggested.

Ah. Another exemple of fine British humour. "Former adversaries", Von Stalhein said diplomatically. "And the last epithet could qualify me as well. That said, I do appreciate the lengths to which you have gone to..." once again he struggled to find the exact term. "...to ease this transition."

Raymond smiled. "I am really doing this for Bigglesworth's sake, so you have no need to feel indebted to me."

"To him, then." Which was not particularly more comfortable. Perhaps a little, though. He only thought Raymond would not abuse the position they were in, but he knew for certain Bigglesworth would not.

At least he had expressed proper gratitude and would not be expected to do it again. Doing it this once had been awkward enough, although Raymond so far had been extraordinarily gracious about the whole affair.

"There is one last thing I need to ask", von Stalhein continued after a few seconds, "a matter that was not raised yet but might come up later on. I would prefer to clear the air now, as it stands."

"I am listening."

"You know on whose side I fought during the last war. I was an officer in the _Abwehr_. Does that matter not at all to you ?"

Raymond now looked suspiciously neutral, as he drained the last drops of his whisky. Von Stalhein glanced at his own and was shocked to find it almost finished as well.

"I have given the matter due consideration, of course", Raymond said. "Bigglesworth's recommandation weighed a lot. I know he would not respect you as he does if you were, shall we say, the kind of brute who ruled your country back then. I made some discreet enquiries that confirmed it. That is not to say you are absolutely blameless, but let he who has never sinned throw the first stone. I don't claim to judge you. I will leave you to sort it out with your own conscience. I suspect it will be a harsher judge than I or anyone else could be."

Von Stalhein nodded slowly, suddenly feeling a new weight on his shoulders. Some more sleepless nights to expect, probably.

"I do have one question", Raymond said after a minute. "Did you know about the camps ?"

"I knew there were camps. Not what went on inside. I assumed they were merely prisons. Unpleasant, certainly, but not deadly. When I was posted on the eastern front, I did see some... unseemly treatment of prisoners and civilians. I had little authority to stop it, and quite frankly I had other priorities at the time. The mission did always come first." Von Stalhein shook his head impatiently. "I will not try to absolve myself. As you most certainly know, I have known to be ruthless, unavoidably so in my line of work. I will make no apology for it - war is not a game. In an ideal world, political matters would be decided with games of chess and wooden soldiers, not on a battlefield. We do not live in such a world, and must all live with the consequences."

Raymond's face was completely impassive. "At least you take responsibility for what you did, or did not do, or chose not to see. And I know for a fact that you have never been suspected of war crimes. That is enough for me. Beyond that... it is one thing to stand by what is right when you are British, French, or Polish, and you are fighting the enemy, the invader. But when you're German, the lines are a lot more blurry between right and wrong, between duty and country and betrayal. I don't claim to understand it."

The uncomfortable silence that followed was broken by the return of the waiter. In a second their empty glasses disappeared, and two plates appeared right in front of them. The waiter disappeared just as quickly and silently, immediately replaced by the sommelier, who poured a half glass of wine for Raymond to approve. The commodore made a show of tasting it before nodding his assent, and the sommelier filled their glasses before putting the bottle on the table and leaving.

"That wine is quite good", said Raymond, apparently determined to bring back the discussion on a less dangerous ground. "You should try it."

Von Stalhein took a sip, out of sheer politeness because he was beginning to feel the effects of the whisky, and he really did not want to get drunk. Slowly he began to eat his salmon, which was excellent, though he would probably have liked it even if it had been ordinary. After Sakhalin, anything decent was a nice change.

"One hears a lot of things about English food in continental Europe", he said. "I've never found it to be entirely justified."

"Actually I think the chef is French", Raymond said, amused. "How about Russian cuisine ?" There was a mischievous glint in his eyes that told von Stalhein he was teasing, not tormenting.

"I'm afraid the quality and quantity are more to blame than the cooking in itself", he said thoughtfully, as if it had been a real question. "And they are overly fond of raw vegetables for my taste."

Raymond nodded and wisely refrained from making a joke about the vodka. Besides, even the best vodka could not rival with the subtlety and taste of a good wine, and von Stalhein took another sip of that riesling that accompanied so wonderfully the salmon. He was still not accustomed to normal food and felt his stomach rebel a little, but the dish was thankfully not too heavy. He would have to watch the wine, though.

"So", Raymond said, after a few moments of silence, "what are your immediate plans ? Of course you don't have to answer if you don't want to. I am merely curious."

Von Stalhein had a slight shrug as he put down his fork - he had had as much food as he could stand for now. "Nothing very definite yet. Rest some. I will give the matter of income due consideration. And then..." he hesitated. "...I will probably spent the rest of the time being very greatly bored."

Raymond smiled. "The joys of retirement. But, actually, thinking about it, I may have some employment for you."

The tone was just right, very innocent, but Raymond's smile was a touch too wide, and his eyes too focused on von Stalhein. Von Stalhein's instinct were usually reliable, and he felt a sharp jab of suspicion. It must have showed, for Raymond's smile turned into a stifled laugh, barely camouflaged in a cough.

"I see", von Stalhein said guardedly. He did not feel at all like laughing. "If I may enquire, what kind of job would that be ?"

Making commendable efforts to bite back his hilarity - and half-failing at that - Raymond said, "Nothing your conscience would object to, I trust. You have, as I understand it, outstanding linguistic skills. How many languages do you speak - five ?"

"Six."

"Quite impressive. So, perhaps you would consent to do some translations for me ? I would of course pay you. We never have enough translators, especially for eastern languages."

Von Stalhein narrowed his eyes. It seemed just too convenient. "And you would trust me to perform such duties ?"

"Oh, I'm not talking about anything high level or top secret... there are regulations to be followed, after all. But more, shall we say, mundane documents. Newspapers, letters, that sort of things. And perhaps a few things unrelated to intelligence work altogether."

Von Stalhein said nothing, too busy pondering Raymond's intentions. The offer was clearly not innocent, but was it a trap, or simply a delicate way to help him without battering his pride too much ? What could Raymond gain from that - apart from keeping an eye on von Stalhein, which was not worth all that trouble ?

"Of course you don't have to give me an answer right away", Raymond added, sensing his doubts.

"That's a very kind offer", von Stalhein said quietly. If he had judged Raymond correctly, the offer was genuine, not a poisonous gift, but still he should think about it clear-headed and when he was not so dreadfully tired. "I will take it under due consideration."

"Very good - the offer remains open, either way."

Von Stalhein nodded, keeping his face carefully blank. His stomach was not settling down as he had hoped, and he was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable, but he was loath to show it. He sipped some more wine, in the vain hope that it would dispell his nausea.

"I hope you will forgive my curiousity", he said suddenly, "but how did you end up in this line of work ? Unless it is indiscreet to ask ?" It was not something he would usually ask, but he needed something to distract himself from his discomfort, and to distract Raymond so he did not notice.

Raymond looked startled, then amused. "Oh, no secret here - not to mention that it was so long ago that any secret would be long outdated. But, you know, I never really chose it. It just... happened."

Von Stalhein raised an incredulous eyebrow. That sort of thing did not "just happen". At some point you had to make a conscious choice, because that sort of job demanded so much. You could not make all of those sacrifices out of boredom. But already Raymond was elaborating, speaking slowly as the past came back to him.

"My father was a teacher, and he never encouraged me to seek a military career. The truth is, I did not really know what I was signing up for. But I had good grades and I was a stubborn young man, and the more I was discouraged from doing something, the more I had to do it. So I went to military school, and when the time came to pick a specialty, intelligence sounded like a most exciting choice. Well, I can say this much - basic training and a rough first assignment eventually knocked some sense into me, but much too late for me to give it all up."

"I see", von Stalhein said quietly, not sure what to add.

"Is it very different from your own experience ?" Raymond raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"In some ways", von Stalhein allowed, while struggling to control his breathing. He suddenly felt cold, and cold sweat beaded on his brow. His heart was beating too fast. "It was, of course, expected from me that I should follow a military career." Was his vision actually dimming ? He would not pass out, von Stalhein thought savagely, but keeping a cool composure was becoming impossible. "It is a tradition in the family. My father was a cavalry officer himself, before he turned to diplomacy." He was hardly thinking about what he was saying, just desperate to keep control of himself, or he would never had said so much in just a few sentences.

And all for nothing, it seemed, for Raymond was staring at him in a peculiar way. "Von Stalhein ? Are you all right ?"

"Yes", von Stalhein lied, perhaps a little too fast. "Please excuse me for a moment." He stood cautiously, glad that he had noted the location of the bathroom earlier, and made for the lobby.

* * *

Raymond watched thoughtfully as his guest made his way out of the dining room, very upright and much too stiff. He had looked a little ill, eyes unfocused and complexion an ashy shade of grey, but Raymond suspected he would not welcome a show of solicitude. Better to leave it up to him to ask for help when he felt the need.

Leaning back in his chair, the air commodore thought about what he had learnt so far. Although he had heard a great deal about von Stalhein, it was the first time he had an actual conversation with the man - in fact, the first time he had him face-to-face for more than a minute. Time had been as lenient on him as it had been on Bigglesworth and his friends. Von Stalhein's hair was only going slightly grey on the temples, and his face did not show his age. Of course, he was so inexpressive that his features seemed carved in stone. Only the eyes seemed alive, a very sharp, penetrating shade of blue, and nothing seemed to escape them. All in all he would seem a rather grim, dour fellow, if not for the hint of humour and cleverness that occasionally filtered through, like a light behind closed shutters. He seemed the complete opposite of the easygoing, smiling Bigglesworth, and yet... when he went past the superficial, Raymond could see the similarities. The same determination, the same dedication, the same lucidity tempered by acceptance. And, deep down, the same spirit.

More to keep his hands busy than because he was thirsty, Raymond raised his glass and watched the wine swirl. He was not drinking as much as he appeared, careful to keep his glass always half-full and taking very small sips. Von Stalhein had finished his first glass, but the second was untouched, and Raymond was under no illusion that the German would allow himself to get drunk. No matter. This was a situation in which more questions would be answered when they were not asked.

And the constant distrust and suspicion... well, that was to be expected. Raymond would certainly feel very much the same in a similar situation... no, maybe that did not explain everything. More likely, that was also a consequence of being unable to trust his own allies. How many times, while working for the Soviets, had he been stabbed in the back ? Admittedly, it was his own fault. He had chosen his camp while fully aware of the consequences - but still, Raymond could too easily imagine himself in the man's shoes, faced with the same unpleasant choices. Doomed to be a traitor whichever way he went.

_Damned if you do, damned if you don't._

For all that he admired von Stalhein in a purely professional capacity, Raymond would never have traded places with him.

The waiter came and removed the dishes, asking politely if all had been according to Raymond's wishes.

"Yes, yes, thank you", Raymond said distractedly.

"Should I bring the next course, or do you wish to wait for the other gentleman ?" the waiter enquired.

"Oh, he should not be long. Please do bring it."

"Very well, sir."

Actually, von Stalhein was being a long time in coming back. Raymond frowned slightly. Had he had a problem, or was he far away by now, making Raymond look like a perfect fool ? No, that was not von Stalhein's style. Should he go and see, at the risk of embarrassing them both, or wait some more ?

* * *

The bathroom was next to the lobby, only a few strides from the entrance to the dining room, but never had such a short distance felt so long to von Stalhein. He let out a shuddering sigh of relief when he was finally able to close the door behind him and, on shaky legs, made his way to the sink. Just in time, too, before his nausea hit full force and he threw up violently. He must have eaten too fast, he thought dimly, then did not think at all.

After a few minutes, the heaves finally stopped, and von Stalhein turned on cold water to rinse his mouth, then his face. Looking up at the mirror, he was appalled by the sight. He was deathly pale, with dark rings around the eyes, and somewhat dishevelled. Taking long, deep breaths he tried to regain some composure. He turned the tap on again, with hot water this time and washed his face again, hoping to make his complexion seem a little more lively. With his wet hands, he slicked his hair back, and rubbed carefully his eyes with almost scalding hot water. Thank heaven no one else was in the bathroom.

He wished he had a watch, but he had yet to replace his - lost to a Russian guard - and he could only guess as to how much time he had spent in there. Probably too much, but he still needed a minute or two. Closing his eyes, he leant against the wall for support and tried to relax as much as he could. He felt marginally better, but still a far cry from fine. Nevertheless, he was going to have to go back. How much longer until he could politely retire ? Several hours, at the least.

With a last glance in the mirror to make sure he looked as good as he was liable to, von Stalhein made for the door and back to the dining room.

Raymond looked distinctly relieved when he spotted him, much to von Stalhein's wry amusement. The commodore had probably suspected him of running away, not that von Stalhein held that against him. He made no comment about taking so long, and to his relief Raymond made none either, even though the waiter had had time to bring the main dish in the interval.

"So", Raymond said while filling von Stalhein's glass with red wine, "you were telling me about how you came to choose this career."

"Oh, there isn't much more to say", von Stalhein said, making a show of taking a sip when he actually drank very little. He did not plan on making another trip to the bathroom this evening. "I have a talent for languages, as you know. When it became clear that the British were trying to rally the Arab tribes, I was an easy choice to try and do the same."

"A German equivalent of Lawrence", Raymond mused out loud.

Von Stalhein shrugged. "If you like." He began cutting his food as he spoke, though he had little appetite. "That was not my first assignment, but the first in which I was mostly under my own authority, which allowed me to go a little beyond my orders. As I was successful, my superiors allowed it."

"So that whole mess with Major Sterne was your idea", Raymond stated. He did not sound surprised. "It was a very impressive operation."

Von Stalhein accepted the compliment gracefully, with a slight nod of his head. "At least until Bigglesworth got involved. It was all something of an accident, really - I had not planned on impersonating a British officer. To be honest, I never thought I could pull it off. But once, I was stranded in the desert and forced to walk to the nearest settlement, which happened to be a British camp. I had little to lose, so I had this idea to pass myself off as one of you. It worked beyond my best expectations." As he spoke, von Stalhein changed his tone slightly and suddenly he no longer spoke with a slight, stilted German accent, but with the clear drawl of the British upper class.

Raymond raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I did wonder about that. Very convincing."

"It does require an effort", von Stalhein allowed, reverting to his normal accent. "That is why I tried to avoid staying at British bases as much as possible. Just one slip of the tongue, and..." he shrugged.

"You would have been shot as a spy", Raymond murmurred with genuine respect.

Von Stalhein was pleased, more so than he had expected. Evoking such memories before had always left a bitter taste in his mouth, but somehow this was different. Raymond, he knew, would understand exactly the story, would know exactly how nerve-wracking and terrifying and exhilirating all this had been. And, if he was fully honest, it did his ego some good to see honest admiration from a colleague. Bigglesworth's distaste for a spy's necessary duties grew wearisome after a fashion.

"I seem to remember you had been in Palestine before the war", Raymond added, as if in an afterthought.

"Yes", von Stalhein nodded. "As I mentioned earlier, my father was a diplomat - " he cut himself short suddenly. He was being very open, more so than he had planned. He had never mentioned his father even to Bigglesworth. In fact he had never mentioned his family at all. Family history was not something you wished to make public when dealing with so many enemies.

Raymond looked a little puzzled but said nothing, waiting quietly for von Stalhein to either continue or change the subject. Von Stalhein felt slightly irritated that the commodore was being so... noble about the whole situation. He knew how to deal with hostility and all of its variants. Sympathy, on the other hand, was jarring.

"Suffice to say, that is why I travelled extensively at a young age", he concluded brusquely.

Raymond hardly seemed bothered and merely nodded. "Quite right. I had the luck myself of going to Egypt with my scholar of a father, as a teenager. I remember finding the experience to be incredible." He lowered his eyes to von Stalhein's plate. "Is there a problem with your food ?"

Looking down, von Stalhein realized that in his pretense of eating, he had cut up the meat and vegetable in very small pieces but eaten almost nothing of it, while Raymond had almost finished his own plate.

"No", he said. "I am not very hungry, I'm afraid. I am sorry to be such a poor guest."

"Not at all", Raymond protested. "Of course you need time to recover from that ordeal." He hesitated. "I hope you realize..." Trailing off, he picked up his glass and swirled the wine around. "Well, let's agree not to be embarrassed if I offer you any assistance you might require. I understand that Russian camps can have long-lasting effects."

There it was again. Yet another offer of help, jarring and strange and unnerving.

"_Why _?" von Stalhein finally blurted out, unable to restrain himself.

Raymond stared at him, making no pretense to ask what he meant, and finally took out a cigarette, brought it to his lips, lit it and inhaled. "If you cannot understand, my dear fellow", he stated quietly, "I'm afraid no amount of explaining may help."

Von Stalhein bristled at the somewhat condescending tone, but he was in no position to say anything. "Very well", he said brusquely. "I shall pretend that you extend this help in the name of an inexistant friendship and without any afterthought whatsoever. If that is what you want."

Raymond shook his head, clearly half-amused and half-annoyed. "I thought we'd been over that several times already, so perhaps we can leave it be for the moment. I trust time will show you..." he shrugged. "Besides, I simply made my offer. You are free to accept or reject it, but I would appreciate if you would stop questioning my motives."

"I..." von Stalhein began, then cut himself off. Oddly enough, he felt as though an apology would not be amiss, but he was unable to figure out what he should apologize for. "I hope you do not think me ungrateful. You have already done much for me, and asked for nothing in return." _Yet._ A glance at Raymond told him that the commodore had guessed the unspoken reservation.

"I do understand your position", Raymond said. "But since nothing I can say would convince you of my sincerity, I think there is nothing more to be gained by dwelling on the subject."

Von Stalhein gave a curt nod. "Agreed."

A short silence followed, broken by von Stalhein's brief laugh. "This is a little awkward, I think. Our jobs is the one thing you and I have in common, and you can hardly talk about your, eh... current affairs. I have none. So, what is left to say ?"

Raymond's eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled. "I take your point. How about your taste in music and litterature ?"

Von Stalhein arched an eyebrow at such a mundane choice of conversational subject, but it did have the advantage of being harmless. "As far as music is concerned, I favour Vivaldi and Purcell. In poetry I prefer William Henley." He used to love Wagner but since the end of the war he had unwittingly avoided listening to it.

"What ?" Raymond cried comically. "What do I hear ? An Italian composer ? A British poet ? I thought you would mention Wagner and Heinrich Heine."

Had he been someone else, von Stalhein would have rolled his eyes. "I am a German patriot, not a jingoist. Why do you think I would have bothered to learn your language, if I did not believe there was something worthwhile to be found in your culture ?"

"Oh, please don't be offended", Raymond said, still half-smiling, half-laughing. "You just did not seem the type to like British poetry. Over-emotional and without discipline, wouldn't you say ?"

Von Stalhein said nothing, not very much interested in defending his taste in litterature. He felt a slight flush on his cheeks, nevertheless vaguely resentful that Raymond seemed to find it so highly amusing.

"Your turn", he said instead, somewhat stiffly.

"Ah, well." Raymond leant forward with the air of a conspirator. "Don't tell anyone, but I happen to be a great admirer of Bach and Tolstoy."

Von Stalhein stared at him incredulously, unable to decide whether Raymond was mocking him, or simply jesting, or actually sincere. "I always found Tolstoy to be much too wordy", he finally said, keeping his tone neutral.

"Oh, I suppose", Raymond said thoughtfully. "But I find it to be relaxing." His cigarette, half-forgotten, was burnt to the filter, which he realized only after bringing it absent-mindedly to his lips. Blinking several times, he dropped it in the ashtray and took his pack out again. "Ah, forgive me - would you like one ?"

Von Stalhein nodded. Cigarettes were scarce on Sakhalin, and when there were any to be had they were the cheap Russian _papirosy_, which tasted fairly awful. He accepted gratefully one of Raymond's American cigarettes. Bigglesworth had given him his own pack before saying his goodbyes, but it had gone quickly enough.

"I almost forgot", said Raymond suddenly, and he took out a long, thin package from his pocket. "Bigglesworth asked me to give you this."

Von Stalhein looked at the brown leather box Raymond was offering him with a slight frown of perplexity. It was just big enough to hold a pen, but gave no clue as to what it might contain. When he made no move to take it, Raymond pushed it in his direction.

"I can assure you it's not going to explode", the commodore said mildly. "Bigglesworth did not tell me what it contains, but I think I can venture a reasonably accurate guess."

Slowly, von Stalhein extended his arm and took the box. He did not know why he felt so uneasy, because he knew very well that Bigglesworth was not going to harm him in any way - quite the contrary, so far. But he had little taste for surprises.

However, stalling was no help, and it was ridiculous on his part, so he opened the box and stared at what lay inside. For a minute he said nothing, then shook his head slowly. "I might have known."

Raymond grinned when he looked inside the box and saw the amber cigarette holder. "As I thought", he said somewhat smugly.

"Bigglesworth did say that I was not myself without it", von Stalhein observed as he fitted his cigarette into the holder. And, bother, he was going to have to write a thank-you note. Typically Bigglesworth, to put him in this situation once more. Then again, he already owed him so much that at this point it hardly made any difference.

Raymond offered him a light and the tip of von Stalhein's cigarette shone red. A memory came to his mind and for a moment he forgot the dining room, he forgot Raymond who was lighting his own cigarette, and he was back a decade, when he had threatened to kill Lacey if Bigglesworth did not surrender himself to him. Where was that again ? He could not remember. Norway, perhaps. It was also in Norway that he had given in to his anger and almost had Bigglesworth shot after an expeditious court martial - the memory shamed him somewhat, although Bigglesworth had been a spy and as such liable to be executed without even that much formality. But it was this same man who had risked everything to save him only a few days ago. It made no sense at all. Typically British.

"...Stalhein ?"

He was jolted back to reality, to Raymond who was looking at him strangely and to the waiter who had appeared beside their table and already picked up their plates.

"I beg your pardon ?" von Stalhein said, embarrassed to have been caught with his attention wandering.

Raymond raised an eyebrow. "Dessert ?"

"No, thank you. I'll have a coffee", he added for the waiter's benefit. Hopefully that would keep him awake and alert for a little longer.

"And lemon tea for me", Raymond said. "I can't sleep if I have coffee after five in the afternoon", he explained ruefully.

Von Stalhein hummed non-committaly. In the course of his work, he had grown used to having coffee at all times of the day or night. Besides, at this point he felt so tired that he was relying on sheer nerves to keep him functioning. Thankfully, this ordeal of a dinner was coming to an end.

"What were you thinking of ?" Raymond asked after the waiter had left. "You looked like you were miles away."

"Just thinking about old times", von Stalhein said with an impatient shake of the head. Lost in thoughts, he had already smoked half of his cigarette, and took another lungful of smoke. "Nothing relevant to the present."

"I see." Raymond paused. "Speaking of the present, there is one more thing we need to talk about."

Von Stalhein tensed slightly, but other than that did not react, merely waiting for Raymond to show his cards.

The commodore was looking absent-mindedly to the right, his fingers tapping rythmically on his silver cigarette case. "Regarding any information you may have, and assuming you would be willing to give such information to me."

There it came. He had been a fool to even vaguely entertain the thought that Raymond might actually not ask...

"Now", Raymond interrupted von Stalhein's thoughts sternly, "it should be understood that we are talking about you volunteering information willingly. No coercion whatsoever. No obligation, no debts to be paid. But it is also my duty to ask you, as a colleague, to consider it, and this is also your chance to decide what kind of world you would like to live in."

Raymond's tone was mild, perhaps even slightly sympathetic. He sounded neither to condemn nor to entreat, doing nothing more than laying up possibilities, but he had touched a sensitive point. Von Stalhein's actions had always been dictated by his loyalty to his country and hatred of his enemies, all of which had been decided for him before he was even born. He had never felt that he truly had a choice, even when he found his duty to be distasteful. But now all ties had been cut loose. He had no one, nothing to look to, and did not have any duty anymore. But he had a choice to make.

Over a decade prior he had given his service to the Soviets, without measuring his sweat and his blood, and his reward had been a death sentence. His life and that of his family he owed to his former enemies. Why was it so hard to consider helping them in return, now ?

The British had been the enemy for too long, though. For decades they had embodied everything that threatened and humiliated Germany, the main foe. And somehow von Stalhein had assimilated the idea of defeating them to that of saving his country. But the world had changed, and he had not adapted fast enough, clinging too hard to old grudges to see the new players in the game. To see the way power had shifted. And then, there was the matter of moral and ethics. And if he was honest with himself, he knew which country held the upper hand in that department.

He should have seen it sooner. He had been so obsessed by Bigglesworth, because Bigglesworth was everything _he _should have been - had everything he should have had. Just because he had been born a few thousand miles further west.

Von Stalhein looked down at his coffee - it had been brought a moment ago, so discreetly that he had hardly even noticed it - and stirred the spoon. Then he looked up at Raymond, who was sipping his tea patiently.

"I... am not entirely adverse to the notion", he said slowly. He felt light-headed, almost drunk, although he had had less than two glasses of wine. Never in his life before had he broken an oath once given, and he had pledged himself to the Soviets... but they had been the ones to break the agreement, he reminded himself forcefully. Still, the words left an ashy taste in his mouth. "I have not given it a lot of thought." Because he had been so certain that he would never do it. "But I have to admit you make some good points."

Raymond seemed to realize just how hard it was for him to admit even this much, for he made no comment and merely waited.

"I still need to consider the matter", von Stalhein added, because he was not one to give in to impulses, especially when he felt sick and half-drunk. But, although he was still reluctant to give in, he suspected he had already made his choice. He just needed more time to come to terms with it. To accept to see himself as a traitor. But then, it was not like he was going to have a clear conscience, whichever way he went.

"Of course", Raymond said quietly. "We can talk about it at a later time."

"I appreciate your patience." Von Stalhein's face was completely immobile, a almost second-nature defense mechanism by now. He lowered his eyes and focused on his coffee instead. He took a small sip, glad for the excuse not to look at Raymond.

"Not at all."

Von Stalhein heard the soft _ping_ of the spoon hitting the porcelain when Raymond stirred his tea. His coffee was already finished, not warm or strong enough for his taste, and only marginally helping with his rebellious stomach and starting headache. He did not feel like ordering another one though, not keen on prolonging the evening.

"I was planning on suggesting we go to my club", Raymond said. "Have a glass of something, maybe. But you seem a little tired. Perhaps you would prefer we postpone that for a later occasion ?"

Von Stalhein was torn between being offended and grateful, and the latter feeling won the contest hands down. "Yes", he said quietly. It was time he learnt to let go of his pride when needed. "Another time."

"Very good." Raymond motioned for the waiter, who presented himself swiftly, and paid.

Von Stalhein stood up and found himself less steady on his legs than he might have liked. It was almost over, he reminded himself. He only had to get to the car without stumbling and that would be it. His ears were ringing and his vision was going slightly grey but he moved as naturally as he could, making his way through the dining room then the lobby, and finally outside. The fresh air hit him but it was only a slight relief.

The edge of his vision went from grey to black. Beside him he saw Raymond's lips move, but he could hear nothing over the blood beating in his ears. He felt himself stumble, but it felt like it was someone else's body, his perception of his surrounding gained the surreal quality of a dream, and finally he lost consciousness.

* * *

He must have been out for no more than a few seconds. When he came to he was propped up against the car for support, held up only with Raymond's help. He was too ill for the embarrassment of the situation to hit him fully, which was after all a small blessing.

"George, come and help me", Raymond said.

Von Stalhein heard him but found himself completely unable to move. He was cold now, and a cold sweat was beading on his brow. He felt only dimly Raymond and his chauffeur push him into the backseat of the car, then Raymond slide next to him. Warm fingers pressed on his throat to take his pulse.

"Should I call for an ambulance ?" the chauffeur asked.

By then von Stalhein had recovered a little, enough to be stirred to action by the horrifying prospect of being dragged to a hospital like some terminally ill old man. "No", he ground out, his voice distant even to his own ears.

"Well - " Raymond sounded hesitant.

"No", von Stalhein repeated, a little more weakly.

" - not quite yet, George", Raymond said after a moment.

Von Stalhein took a long breath, then another. His sense were slowly coming back to him although he still felt weak and disoriented. His head was pounding nastily, too. Seconds ticked by, the silence only broken by his deep, harsh breathing.

"I apologize for this unseemly display", he mumbled eventually, when he had regained enough poise to actually feel embarrassed about the whole affair. He cursed inwardly against himself. All he had needed was a few more minutes, and then he would have been back to the flat, alone.

"Nonsense", Raymond said. "I should have realized... I am very sorry. I should have given you a few days, at the very least, to settle in and recover. It was dreadfully insensitive of me."

Von Stalhein closed his eyes. This assault of good manners annoyed him, and he would very much prefer it if not another word was spoken about the incident. Raymond must have recognized that, for he did not insist further to lay the blame on himself, turning to the chauffeur instead.

"George, take us to Mr. von Stalhein's flat, if you don't mind."

"Right away, sir."

Raymond leant back, looking through the window while the streets of London blurred past. After a moment, he let out a stifled laugh.

"Dare I ask ?" said dryly von Stalhein, who saw little to be amused of at the moment.

"Oh, it's just that when I saw you fai... hum, be unwell, my first thought was to wonder if someone could somehow have poisoned you." Raymond shook his head, his smile still visible in the semi-darkness of the car. "And I thought you were the one to be paranoid."

Von Stalhein pursed his lips, hardly amused but not particularly angry either. "I seriously doubt that I represent enough of a threat - political or otherwise - to warrant such extensive means being used against me."

Raymond nodded, suddenly serious again. Or perhaps he was always serious and merely chose not to show it. "Be that as it may, you might want to choose for yourself some kind of alias. It may be safer in the long run."

Von Stalhein shrugged. "I suppose so." He was used to aliases and borrowed names, and using another one would not make much of a difference to him. "Assuming your government permits me to do so."

The car stopped in front of a building that von Stalhein belatedly recognized as his new address. He turned to Raymond, ready to take his leave, but the commodore was already exiting the car. Von Stalhein did the same.

"I'll walk with you to the flat, if you don't mind", said Raymond.

He was probably worried that von Stalhein might pass out in the middle of the stairs. His own weakness annoyed him, but he could not resent the commodore for his thoughtfulness, so he merely nodded without comment. They were both silent as they entered the building and climbed the stairs to the second floor, where the flat was located. Von Stalhein took his brand new key from the pocket of his suit and opened the door.

"Would you like to come in ?" he asked, courtesy demanding he made the offer.

"Just for a minute", Raymond nodded.

They walked in, von Stalhein groping for the switch on his right until he found it and light flooded the room. "Would you care for a drink ?" he asked Raymond, although he could not remember if there actually was anything to drink at all in the flat.

"No, thank you, I will be off presently." Raymond was examining him closely, making von Stalhein feel uneasy. "Are you certain you will be all right ? I can call for a doctor..."

"Thank you", said von Stalhein quietly, "but I would prefer not. I only need a little rest."

Raymond did not seem fully convinced, but he nodded. "Very well. Here is my card, if you need anything. At any time." He had a quick smile. "Please don't hesitate to use it - I vouched for you, and if there is any problem I will be held responsible." He spoke jokingly, but von Stalhein had no doubt that the offer was genuine. Not that he did not think the commodore may have second thoughts.

"I will contact you soon to let you know about... that other matter."

"Good, good. Take your time. Now, I really must go. Have a good evening."

"Thank you. You as well", von Stalhein said automatically, and he watched the commodore depart, closing the door quietly behind him.

Slowly he walked to the window and, pushing slightly the curtains to the side, watched the dark street outside. He could make out the shape of the car, although it was black and seemed to melt in the shadows. A few seconds later, he heard the main door click and saw the figure of a man walking briskly to the car. The car started and a moment later it vanished behind a corner. There he was, back to his wife probably - or did he have one ? Von Stalhein had not thought to ask.

He walked heavily to the bedroom, switching off the light as he did so, and stumbled in the darkness until he found the bedside table and the lamp on it. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and let his eyes wander. The room was unfamiliar, and yet it reminded him of his own room back in the family house, which he had last seen many years back. It took him a little while before he realized why ; it was his own room, not a service flat that he was going to use for two weeks or six months. It was his new home. Supposed to be his new home, anyway.

A few stars showed through the window and the flimsy gauze curtains. They, at least, looked exactly the same as they did in Germany. Looking at them, von Stalhein could almost believe that he was back decades in time, that he still had his life in front of him. That he still had a choice.

But what would be the use ? Given a choice, there was very little that he would do otherwise. Maybe it was time he stopped dwelling in the past and faced the present. He had refused to for long enough.

_Time is catching up with me._ Yes, he had been running all this time, and going nowhere. And now... Von Stalhein removed his jacket, slowly, and as he did so he felt a long cylinder in his pocket. The amber cigarette holder... a small smile touched his lips. Bigglesworth, who had been such a pest for such a long time... he thought of him almost fondly, now.

Von Stalhein extended a hand to switch off the bedside table and lay back in the darkness. He was too tired to remove the rest of his clothes. He was too tired to keep asking himself existential questions. He closed his eyes and let himself drift into sleep. Tomorrow he would call Raymond, and tell him whatever the commodore wished to know, was his last thought.


End file.
